Perilous Risk (21 page)

But Rebecca couldn’t sleep.

Jon had wanted someone younger. Stephen would too. Eventually. All men did.

But what had Stephen said tonight?

Ruel was an adjunct to your life.

She began breathing harder.

I shall be your life. And you shall be mine.

Craving like she had never known welled up inside her. God, she’d love to believe Stephen. To
really
believe him.

Yet, except for the first few, miserable years of her marriage, she’d had never been completely exclusive to one man. What if she couldn’t be? What if she failed Stephen and he was disgusted by her? What if he would look at her with disdain and hate?

An image of Father loomed in her mind, his disapproving visage dominating her thoughts until she couldn’t lay still any longer.

She arose and began to pace, her thoughts spinning and spinning, until one settled on her with disquieting clarity.

Her heart leapt into her throat. And without further thought she jolted to her feet and dashed back to the bed. She gave Stephen’s shoulder a violent shake. “Wake up!”

His eyes popped open and he stared at her, dazed. “What?”

“How did you know about…t-the matter with the crop and the whip?”

“What?”

“How did you know about my carnal proclivities?” she snap, too alarmed for shame now.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“Lady Scott told me.”

Her heart seemed to falter and nausea twisted inside her guts. “
Lady Scott
told you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“At Eastwood Place, the night after you left.”

Her heart began to beat more normally. But her nausea increased as comprehension dawned. “You were
with
her, that next night?”

She couldn’t keep the disgust out of her tone when referring to Lady Scott.

“It was just once.”

“You lay with that-that…” She took a deep breath struggling for a word horrid enough and couldn’t find it. “You-you…
how could you
?”

He gaped her with heavy-lidded eyes.

The lack of real response from him made her explode again. “How could you?!”

“Rebecca,” he said, calmly. “You left with Lord Ruel.”

Anger pulsed through her. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot rapidly, trying to dissipate some of her ire. “Lady Scott?”

“You not only left Eastwood Place, you left England and went to America with him.”

Illogically, his calm response made her all the more vexed. Yes, she’d heard the outraged jealousy in her voice. She knew how ridiculous it was. She couldn’t help it. “I just cannot believe you would bed down with that woman, of all the women you could have had. Why her?”

“She was a quite a comely little vixen in those days.”

Revulsion seethed into Rebecca’s bones. She shuddered with it. “Lady Scott.” She said the name as though it were the most dreaded of all diseases.

“Lord Ruel had her.”

“So he did. That was bad enough.”

“It never seemed to matter to you. That’s what everyone says.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “You have certainly queried enough people on the matter of my carnal proclivities!”

He returned her glare mildly. “How else was I to learn about them?”

“It was my private affair. It was not her place to go telling.” She shook her head. “I still cannot fathom how you could lay with someone like
her
.”

“You let Ruel have his highborn playmates. You were happy to let him have them.”

“It was different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Because Jon never claimed to hold you special over all other women.

It struck her with sudden clarity just how much she wanted to believe that Stephen held her special above all other women. And just how much that desire to be so special, so adored, had factored into her decisions in the past hours.

That need was the most disquieting thing yet.

It wasn’t safe to need any man’s regard so badly. She knew how easily a man’s attention could be drawn away.

And she would be left all alone.

“How was it different, Rebecca?”

“It just was.”

She and Stephen stared at each other for a long, uncomfortably tense time.

“I wrote to you.”

She frowned. “What?”

“When you left with Howland, and went to Ruel’s regiment, I wrote to you.”

She froze, paralysed by his sudden accusation. She felt trapped. Pinned to the wall.

“You ignored my letters,” he said, his voice becoming hoarser.

She stared at him, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest, self-protectively this time. But she couldn’t keep the pain from creeping in. “I did what I believed was best at the time.”

“Because I was a mere boy?”

“Yes.” She drew a ragged breath. “And because I was a such a bad, wicked wife.”

He turned a shade paler. “I am sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t mean to recall that topic.” He sat up and reached out his arms. “Come here.”

“No, I should leave you be. I am restless, I shall never sleep.”

“Come here even so.”

She couldn’t resist his tender tone. She walked slowly to the bed but merely sat beside him. “I don’t want you to have the wrong idea about Donald. He only struck me the once. Never before, never after.”

“He never did it again because of Jonathon Lloyd?”

She nodded.

“And you gave yourself to Ruel because he made you feel safe?”

“Partly.” Her shoulders sagged. “In truth, Donald was relieved that I had found a lover. Everyone knew and they all pretended not to know. He could save face that way and yet all that pressure about the marriage bed was lifted from his back.”

“Howland wasn’t normal. His mind was not right.” Stephen gave her back a sweeping caress. “You need to sleep. Your nerves need rest and you’ll feel better for it.”

She lay beside him again, trying to be still so that he could sleep. But she found herself arising soon after he had drifted off. She removed her chemise then went to the abandoned bathtub and stepped into the water, trying to be as quiet as possible.

The cold bath was bracing. Refreshing. It reminded her of early mornings, sometimes in camp with the Dragoons, when she had slipped away to bathe in some stream or other. She could never think of that time without feeling a sense of anticipation, of life being open and full of possibility.

Ah, youth. It was so wasted on the young. She took a deep breath and then submerged her head.

Afterwards, shivering violently, she rubbed herself vigorously with the linen towels. She wrapped one of them about her head and then stared out the window at the moonlit night. Such a quiet time. A sense of extreme well being settled over her. But she did feel ever so much better. Clearer of mind. Her stomach growled and she put her hand over the aching.

Mercy, what she wouldn’t give for a large mug of steaming coffee with a generous dose of Scotch whisky and a huge bowl of porridge with milk and butter.

And dark, rich maple syrup, and not just any maple, but from Vermont, just as she had eaten in America.

But wait, Americans favoured those johnnycakes, with their toasty brown edges and soft chewy insides. She remembered that one tavern in Philadelphia. She knew it had cost a small fortune to stay there. But oh, heavens, what delicacies they had served in the mornings! Fluffy eggs scrambled with cream and chives. Hearty slabs of crisp, salty, melt-in-your-mouth bacon and boiled potatoes with just the right waxy cast and spicy pepper hash. Tart-sweet apple and cranberry preserves on toast points…

Her stomach growled, more fiercely this time. Damn, she’d been too full of carnal anticipation yesterday afternoon to eat much of their meal.

She glanced at Stephen sleeping peacefully in the bed.

No, she couldn’t leave to get some food and risk waking him. At least not for a few hours. She pulled her chemise over her head then noticed the papers still scattered about. She crawled on her knees and began to gather them up. Then she laid her hand on one sketch and caught her breath.

A very detailed sketch of the interior of Seymour House.

What the devil?

She took the stack of papers and grasped the little book. For a moment, she caressed the worn red leather.

Stephen carried this in his pocket, every day of his life. She tried to picture what his daily life must be like. What
he
must be like.

She drew a blank. Then she shook herself from the foolish little reverie. She snapped the book open and leafed through it. It was filled with nonsensical words.

Code.

A faint chill passed over her scalp and settled at her nape, with the little hairs on the back of her neck on end.

What was Stephen’s business with this?

Thud, thud, thud!
Her heart beat increased with a sudden sense of rising alarm.

Now it came to her! Stephen had known too much about the inner workings of Jon’s house. About his private life.

Stephen had not come to Kean’s house for an evening of carnal amusement and stumbled upon her. He had
followed
her there.

Her mouth went dry.

He had offered her help because he wanted…what?

He had seduced her to get her into a vulnerable situation? Yes, very likely!

Ruel was an adjunct to your life.

Adjunct?

Such complex words from a man who had never attended college. His vocabulary was peppered with them.

He’s not what he seems. There are so many questions. You do not know him.

She put her hand over her leaping heart. Oh no, she couldn’t cope with this.

She sat back on her heels and rubbed her palms on her chemise. No, she must deal with this. She just needed to keep a cool head. All those years, following the drum, she had kept her head. Yes, she’d grown soft, living in the luxury and safety that Jon’s support and later congé he’d provided her with. But that practical woman still resided within her.

Stephen had worked hard to convince her that her best possible choice for safety had been to go with him. To place herself within his keeping.

Her own attraction and long-starved lust along with Kean’s special punch and helped to provide her with the incentive to believe.

Now she could think more clearly.

Maria wanted her testimony. She had played strongly on Rebecca’s fears and now was likely just letting Rebecca think about her options.

She wasn’t going to call for Rebecca’s arrest.

Stephen was right about one thing, Maria was unlikely to be charged with Saxby’s death. The young man had been very ill.

A suspicious illness, a little too convenient for Maria’s benefit.

But an illness nonetheless. Verified by a doctor.

Jon deserved to know that Maria wanted to malign his public character, that she sought the means to see his political career discredited and even to possibly send him to the gallows.

Jon was her best advisor. The only man she could trust. She knew he could never wish her ill.

Yes, he was tucked away in Devon with his countess but this was surely a grave enough situation to warrant a brief disruption of his domestic bliss.

* * * *

The creak and roll of the ship had become familiar and comforting. Rebecca stretched herself out, naked on the large bunk that dominated the cabin.

But he didn’t notice.

He was sitting by the little stove that provided them heat, staring into his mug of steaming coffee and whisky.

Feeling suddenly foolish, Rebecca crawled under the coverlet and drew it up to her chin.

He was frowning now.

“Goodness, Jon, what ever is the matter?”

“I was just thinking about my title, this damned marriage business…all of it.”

“Most men would consider themselves quite lucky and would be looking forward to skimming the cream off the marriage mart.” She made her voice light and teasing.

The crease between his eyes deepened. “God.”

“It’s not a death sentence.”

“Not quite at least.” He placed his cup on the floor then his boots echoed on the floor planks as he approached. He sat on the bed then ran his hand over her stomach through the coverlet. “If a man and a woman were lovers but they were also friends, don’t you think they could make a go of a friendly marriage? I mean as long as everything was spelled out. His expectations. Her expectations.”

He was speaking of himself and Lady Maria Waterbury. She couldn’t condone or encourage his union with that she-devil. So she shook her head. “It sounds dreadful to me. A recipe for disaster.”

“You really believe that?” His gaze searched hers so deeply. It gave her chills. But she held her ground and nodded.